


Looking for the Shapes in the Silence

by TheTiniestFish



Series: TMA Selkie Martin AU [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Happy Ending, Jon becomes a selkie, Kinda, M/M, Selkie AU, Selkie Martin AU, Transformation, but still a lot of canon is the same, just more selkies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24166369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTiniestFish/pseuds/TheTiniestFish
Summary: A selkie giving a human their skin is the greatest act of trust. It binds them together, changing the person in more ways than one.Years ago, Martin Blackwood gave Jonathan Sims his sealskin for safekeeping. Now he stands Alone, but Jon is determined to find him. He has something to return, after all.No, Martin won't have to be Lonely any more. Not if Jon has anything to say about it.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: TMA Selkie Martin AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744132
Comments: 7
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

It’s cold, in the Lonely. The chill of the curling mist cuts through him, even through the dull protection of the sealskin. Martin is so Lonely these days, the idea that it could stop the creeping fog is a far-off dream.

He shudders as he wanders across the landscape, a distant sea lapping at his feet. It wants to drown him- coat and cover him from head to toe, blocking out all sensation until there is no way he can even conceptualise not being alone. The mist blocks everything from view, but that mockery of an ocean? It would take so much more to keep him here. 

“Martin!” he cries out. It feels futile, hoping to find another person in this place, but he Knows it’s just the Lonely, pushing itself into his mind, filling it with all these thoughts of, just maybe Elias is right, maybe there really is no way out. What’s the point in searching for Martin- they’ll never be anywhere else, endlessly drifting further away from each other.

“Martin!”

Jon is not giving up, not here.

Peter Lukas is close. Jon can feel it. But so is something else- something that’s been taken from him. The knowledge cuts through him, and the curiosity gets the better of him. He follows the thought, chasing it down through the mists. The water gets deeper as he stalks through the Lonely, lapping at his ankles, and then his knees and it’s almost up to his waist when he finds it.

A sealskin.

It’s lying there. Alone, as everything is in this place. Oh- god. The thought strikes Jon- is this Peter’s skin? Jon knows Elias took it- but what better place to hide it from Peter than the one place he will never look. It’s just too close to home. The water pools around it, heavy and cloying. It doesn’t want to let it go.

A hopeful thought surfaces. Maybe- maybe if he returns the skin to Peter he will be grateful, and lead him to Martin in return- No. He pushes the thought down. A selkie’s sealskin is not a bargaining chip, no matter the situation or how dire things might be. He feels it in his bones, where the Change has begun to seep in and warp them. Something as sacred as that- to even consider it feels like a betrayal of the highest order. No, he would give the skin to Peter regardless. To leave a selkie bound- it is a fate worse than death.

He plunges his hands into the aching quiet of the icy waters. The skin does not come easily- the Lonely does not want to let it go. What, after all, is more lonely than to be trapped, alone, unable to seek out company even if you desired it? Still, Jon’s will is stronger. He takes it, and shakes it out, before folding it over his arm.

The skin Jon wears almost resonates with it- they are both the skins of Lonely creatures. 

He walks for a long time. He feels the cold and the quiet in every atom of his being, both of the sealskins he carries singing to it and creating some kind of terrible resonance. There is no pain, but it aches, more than anything he’s ever felt 

He picks up the pace. He will not be trapped here. Martin will not be trapped here, away from his sealskin for all eternity. Jon will not allow it. He has to give it back, one way or another.

There is a voice behind him. The air dulls it until the words are almost unintelligible, but he hears it nonetheless.  
“Hello, Archivist.” 

Peter’s words are dull and defeated as they drift around Jon. They’re directionless, even to his Eye-sharpened senses. It’s not that he can’t find Peter- he just isn’t here. Not in any way that matters. 

Well, that had been true. But Jon holds Peter’s sealskin now, the memories lingering on it like smoke. It’s been years, and where Martin’s had been warm, Peter’s thoughts are cold and distant. And yet, they linger there, sure as anything.

It’s impossible for Jon not to Know Peter, not like this. Not holding a piece of his soul in his hands, soft and so achingly vulnerable. It gives up memories like water from a sponge, spilling from the pores.

He sees only flashes, at first, as he searches along that endless beach. A childhood alone, his mother at sea and his father all too busy. Distant. Wandering through the human cities, safe and isolated in his knowledge he will never be with them, never be like them. Years at sea, far away from the bustle and closeness of the land. Joining the sea for the first time, full of the joy of it all. And- losing his skin. The memories, the thoughts slow to a trickle now. They’re grainy, like sugar left on top of a sieve when the finer details have fallen through. The parts too large to pass through the mesh. 

He sees Elias- no, he sees Jonah, sealskin in hand, triumphant and smug in that way that he always is when he knows he’s won. As everything goes his way, everything slotting into place. The sheer despair that had flooded through Peter almost staggers Jon as he misses his next step and threatens to fall to the ground. Good god, Peter’s wager with Elias. A selkie, offered its sealskin back in a bet that he could never win- and he knew. He knew it was unwinnable, from the moment that Elias, confident in his victory suggested it. But a slim chance, a glimmer of hope is better than nothing at all. And so Peter reached for that hope with both hands- only to have it ripped away. Martin would not be joining the Lonely that way, and the hopelessness that the thought sparks is- Jon could drown in it.

He Knows Peter in his entirety now. He could find him anywhere, even as his half-presence drifts amongst the mists. The comfort of the fog tries to curl within him. Isn’t loneliness easier, it whispers. Although not in any real words- to hear another voice in this place would be too personal for a place built on isolation. It threatens to smother him, his connection to the Eye wavering under the sheer weight of this potential, this connection to the lonely that tries to wrap itself around him even as he holds the sealskin in his hands. The tide of the Forsaken ebbs and flows from it, both calling Jon and recoiling at being seen and Known so thoroughly.

Jon focuses on the skin he wears, wrapped around himself. It gives little protection against the Lonely, but its own call muffles the roar just enough for Jon to make his way forwards.

“I can see you now, Peter. There’s no point hiding anymore.”

There. Muffled footsteps on the quiet sands.  
“So. That’s where it’s been all these years then, I suppose. Elias kept it from me well.”

“He’s always been good at hiding things under people’s noses.”

There’s a quiet, pained laugh.  
“I suppose he is.” Peter is in front of him, suddenly, peering at him with dark, glistening eyes filled with warring hope and dread as he sees his skin that he has been parted from for so many years. “Still, hiding it in my domain is rather adding insult to injury, don’t you think? And I suppose you won’t be letting me go, after this, Archivist. You’ve got me right where you want me, and we both know it.”

“I-” Jon steps back. “I wouldn’t-”

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you? You humans are all the same. You think you’re all so much better, until suddenly opportunity comes along and you take it. One skin not enough for you, Archivist?” He says the name like it’s a dagger to Jon’s throat, cutting deeply. He says it like Jon isn’t the one in total control. “Well, now you have mine, too. The villain of your past year, at your mercy. You know what Martin is, what I am. I see you wearing his skin,” he says, soft and defeated, ”You know what power they hold over us.” 

Jon goes rigid.  
“I may Know you now, Peter. And I can’t pretend I’m sorry for that, not with what I am, not with everything you’ve done. But don’t you pretend to know me,” he says, putting the skin down between them. “I am more than you think.”

Peter’s eyes widen, then narrow as he stares at the skin, his sealskin, a hunger in his eyes.  
“Is this some kind of trick?”

Jon waits, and watches as Peter watches him back, tired and weary- and with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Peter steps forwards, bending down and taking the skin in his hands slowly and carefully. His coat drags in the water as he kneels beside it, expensive wool dragging through the murk, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He is enraptured, as he turns the soft fur over, feeling its give against his fingers. The mist that had been slowly seeping from it comes in floods now, surrounding Peter as if welcoming him home. He is home, at long last. He sits there for a long while, reacquainting himself with every little notch and imperfection, the smoothness of it as the water continues to lap around him. 

After what seems like an eternity, he looks up, and something approaching a smile crosses his face.  
“My family’s never been one for sharing the Gift, Archivist. But I think… I think you’ll do just fine.”

“How do you- I haven’t made the Choice yet,” says Jon, staring.

Peter really smiles this time, and for once it isn’t quite so icy cold. It’s knowing, and almost- proud?  
“Haven’t you, Archivist?”

And he’s gone.

Some of the fog clears with him, but the landscape is still in that state of deafening near-silence, and though the cold has drawn back it is still biting where it is not numb. Despite everything, Martin is nowhere to be seen.

“Martin!”  
His voice echoes uselessly against the nonexistent wind, but he keeps going. There is a pinprick of light in the distance, which he Knows is Martin- he can feel it in the comforting weight draped across his shoulders as much as the knowledge pressed upon him from a place beyond that which he can fully understand.

“Martin!”

“Hello, Jon.”

Jon whirls around.

Oh. There he is. Martin stands there, staring out at the empty sea. There, eyes unfocused on the distance, he looks washed out, like a beautiful carving turned to driftwood. There is so little definition, and he looks like a strong breeze would scatter him irreversibly, no two parts of him ever meeting again. Oh, wouldn’t that be lonely.

“Martin-” he starts, but Martin’s eyes are still unfocused and distant. “Martin, listen to me- I know you think you want to be here, I know you think it’s safer and well- well maybe it is. But we need you. I- I need you.”

“Oh Jon,” says Martin, staring at him in wonder. “It’s beautiful- you’re-”

That’s when Jon realises. The weight that he had draped himself in for years- barely went without- it’s different. Changed. A sealskin still covers his shoulders, wrapping him up in its beautiful warmth- but it’s lighter, somehow.

Jon looks down at his hands, and sees that he is holding Martin’s sealskin within them. His eyes blink, large and dark and seal-like even in the pale ghostly light of the Forsaken. And he laughs, the bright sound of it cutting through the fog that hangs above them all. Peter was right, after all. He had made his choice, and even as he searched the Lonely it had changed him. He’s like Martin now- and the sheer joy of it, the knowledge that he is free, in a way he has never been before- it bubbles up in dazed laughter. The new sealskin around his shoulders is so impossibly comforting- a piece of himself, out and vulnerable for all the world to see.

But he’s safe here, even in this place. He is safe with Martin by his side and even as he asks: “How are we going to get home?”, Jon laughs again and looks deep into Martin’s eyes.

“Don’t worry. I know the way.”

Jon can see, in Martin’s dark and shining eyes, now looking down on him adoringly, that his beloved believes every word.

And so, they walk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Martin escape to the sea.

Jon runs his tongue over his teeth again as he stares in the little mirror in the car. Martin glances over. 

“Weird, huh?”

“I’d gotten so used to them being sharp-”

Martin lets out a small sigh, but it’s not the quiet, tired sigh of the past year. It’s one of contentment, here and safe with the man he loves. He drums his fingers against the sides of the steering wheel, checking the mirror and smiling as he sees the two seal skins, draped against each other on the backseat. They’re safe- no one who would think to follow them is in any position to do so, and their ties to the Institute are broken at last. They’re free.

Its been a day, and Jon is still adjusting. He can feel Martin, closer than ever. They’re the same now, creatures of the sea and land in equal measure. He stares out of the window and watches the ground pass by, trees and hedges blurring past. Then suddenly, the hills give way for just a moment- and he sees it. Just a glint- but he sees it.

The sea. It calls to him, song overlaying with the hum of Martin’s presence. The man he became this for, and the great blue expanse that has claimed him. It flows through him, his pulse in time with the far-off beating of the waves. He feels the heady rush of the water when he closes his eyes, as certain as if he was racing through that blue expanse.

“God, it’s strong out here,” says Martin, “It’s not the same down by the English Channel- it’s the size of it all, I think. It’s just- there’s so much more of it out here, calling.”

The call is so strong, it’s all Jon can do to stay seated in the car, fidgeting with the cord of his coat, clicking the little button on its toggle. He doesn’t even notice at first the rhythm he clicks it to is the same one that thrums with the beat of his heart, and the far-off waves. 

He can wait. He’ll have to- Jon chose this, above all else. When Martin had given him his pelt for safe-keeping, he could never have predicted how much things would change- how he would change, in simply choosing not to abandon the man he loves. He is certain of the word- his declaration was so definite that the very sea took him into itself, pulling at the threads of his being until he could fulfil his promise, his vow to stay with Martin wherever he led. Even in the Lonely, afraid he might never see Martin again. Even out here, beyond anything and everyone he knows. Even beyond, to the vast depths of the great ocean that he is now free to roam, his form now fluid and changeable.

He hasn’t had the chance to try, not yet. His skin itches as the sea calls him- how could Martin stand it, all these years on land? How had Peter not gone mad, trapped as he was in one form, stranded above the filmy surface of the briny depths? So much of his desperation makes sense now- Jon has only been like this for a day or so at best, and the separation gnaws at him. 

Martin looks over.  
“Jon? Are you alright?”

Jon sighs, and turns over in his seat slightly.  
“I didn’t realise it would be- It would be this potent.”

Martin makes an understanding sound.  
“Oh, yeah. When I was little, I used to get antsy if my skin went even an inch out of my sight. And when the sea came on the telly- anything set at the seaside would have my eyes glued to the screen, watching the waves. It took years for Mum to finally take me out there- I don’t know if she was more scared that I’d disappear off into the surf, or that I wouldn’t, that I would come back every time.”

“Martin, thats-”

“Horrible, I know. Still, it is what it is.”

Jon turns to look at Martin, face open and incredulous.  
“You still shouldn’t have to- God, was your mother like that constantly?”

Martin stares out the windshield at the road. Then:  
“Yeah. Yeah she was.”

Jon takes a sharp breath.  
“Good grief.”

“Yeah. It… Look, it wasn’t fine. But it- I won’t let it affect me. I’ll be fine.”

Jon frowns and Martin winces.  
“Martin, it’s okay to be upset- you don’t have to pretend you’re not hurt by it all- no one deserves that, not anyone- and especially not someone like you.”

“What do you mean, someone like me?”

“You’re kind, Martin, and you stand up for- well, what you expect from the world. It’s all been so unfair to all of us, and you just kept going. I know that the Lonely almost had you, had been sinking its claws into you for most of a year- but you still decided that you weren’t going to take that isolation, even if there was such a slim hope of anything else.” Jon’s expression curls into a half-smile. “You weren’t there, no- but I saw your little acts of kindness, and I felt you- do you know what it’s like to wear a selkie’s skin- another’s skin- for years? I know you, Martin, in a way I don’t think I can quite describe. I’ve seen you, Martin, and I love you.”

Ah. Martin is crying. And, oh, so is he, he notices as he draws his hand up to his face and it comes away salty and wet. The two of them smell of the sea, salt rolling off them in waves. Jon watches Martin, as tears roll off his seatbelt, then finally give way as Martin’s face breaks open into a smile.

“Jon…”

“What? I mean it.”

“I… I believe you. I just- it's so much. I need time.”

“Alright,” says Jon, fond smile creeping across his lips, “We’ll have plenty of that.” He leans against the edge of his seat, popping the last sweet in the packet into his mouth whilst Martin isn’t looking. It takes him almost a full hour to notice, reaching hand meeting air and plastic wrapper, and Jon tries not to laugh at his slightly petulant expression as Martin mock-glares at him. Well. He tries.

They drive in a comfortable silence after that, through the seaside village, dark stone against slated grey roofs and up onto a hill that leads to the cliffside, and Jon watches the seagulls coast by. They look so peaceful, soaring above the waters. Anyone else would think so. Jon, of course, growing up in a seaside town, has had too many sandwiches snatched by the particularly intrepid birds, and has learned to watch them closely. As lovely as they are in the air, the token sight of the seaside, they are not to be trusted. Still, they do look rather nice, he allows himself, as the last rays of the sun catch on their wings as it begins to fade beyond the horizon.

The car finally trundles to a halt. A cottage, walls painted white, stark against the grey roof and the grey of the darkening skies. As the sun dips below the horizon, the white walls of the old cottage are stained orange in the gaps between the shadows cast by an old tree, planted by the threshold. Rowan, notes Jon. He hopes, as he takes the bags from the squeaky old car boot, that in this place, far away from those who would do them harm, they won’t need its protections.

\------  


The golden light of the sun on the water has dimmed to a faint purple-grey glow that washes over the ocean, the pale moon barely visible down in the choppy waters.

Jon fiddles with the edge of his new skin nervously, this extension of himself that he chose. He’s nervous to join the waters, to answer the call that has thrummed within him all day and night. It’s so much, and it feels like the last part of this change, the final nail in the coffin of his humanity, or whatever was left of it after the Eye had its way. Martin seems to pick up on this and deflates a little, shifting minutely where he sits and bunching up the wet sand in his fingers as they dig into the ground. He looks over to Jon, uncertainty in his large, dark eyes.

“I worry, Jon. I worry that I forced you to become something else. I didn’t know what giving you my sealskin would do, but when things started to happen- you shouldn’t have had to choose this to stay with me.”

“Martin, it was my decision. I chose you, and everything that comes with that. And- Martin, it wasn’t just that.”

“Then what?”

“If I’m not going to be human, Martin, I wanted to choose.”

“Choose what kind of monster you wanted to be?” Says Martin, quietly.

Jon shakes his head and takes Martin’s soft hands in his own.  
“Not a monster. A selkie.”

“Jon…”

“I wanted to be something beautiful for once. Like you. You gave me that. I was becoming something, everything was spiralling out of my control and you gave me this. Something to hold on to. I can shape my future now, Martin. The Eye didn’t give me that. The skins didn’t give me that- you did.”

It's evident that Martin doesn’t really know how to respond as he stares out at the crashing waves, but he smiles as red creeps across his pale freckled face in the dusky twilight.

Jon tries to pick up the conversation again, pulling Martin’s warm body close, and taking his large hands in his own, scarred as they are.  
“Who’d have thought that your little moment of trust would lead to this?”

“Jon, you know it was hardly a little moment-.”  
“I know, Martin. I was just teasing, I know.”

And he does, pelt around his shoulders, promising the change should he just melt into it, let it take him and wrap him up in its warmth. It shines on the edge of his consciousness- all he needs to do is let it, become something else. Become what he has chosen, this comforting dual existence. He pushes it down for now. Later, he tells himself, as he takes Martin’s hand in his own. Later. They have no shortage of time.

Martin looks over at him, as they lay there on the sandy shores. His smile is somewhat conspiratorial, and his eyes glimmer with a playfulness that Jon has missed.  
“So. You want to meet the sea?”

Oh, to hell with waiting, Jon thinks.

He untangles himself and wriggles Martin out of his lap. As he stands, he offers his hand to Martin, whose eyes widen as he takes it in his own.

The two of them make their way down the shallow slope, thick and watery sand squelching under their bare feet, leaving little troughs, salty pools in their wake. They won’t take long to wash away, traces of their passing disappearing into the evening and the song of the sea.

Jon gasps as the water rushes over his toes.  
“Cold!”

Martin hides his laughter behind his hand as Jon jumps back from the water’s edge.  
“I thought you used to live by the sea!”

Jon splutters, indignant as he braves the cold again.  
“In fairness, I didn’t go down to the waterfront all that often. Also- I went down in summer. This is the North Sea!”

Even as he complains, he can feel the water around him, swirling in enrapturing eddies, welcoming him home in a way he’s never felt before. He’s safe. He’s wanted, and the water proclaims its love to him as he wades further into its depths. If he turned, he knows that he would see Martin, running his fingers through the briny waves like sand slipping through his fingers. He doesn’t need to look. He doesn’t need to Know- he feels Martin there, in the water, as plain as day. He is home, and he is not alone. He wraps his sealskin around him, trancelike, and as the water laps at his head and there is no further he can go, not like this- he dives.

The water rushes past him. He knows it is cold- but the warmth inside him, the glow that he feels, skin thick and smooth and furred, keeps the chill at bay. All he feels is his silky smooth descent into depths that welcome him, call to him- he is a selkie, and- he thinks, looking at his lover’s powerful seal form racing through the twisting currents, he is home.


End file.
